Somebody to die for
by dominoharvey
Summary: 6 days, 2 hours and 42 minutes since they'd taken her. 6 days, 2 hours and 35 fucking minutes since he'd been looking for Natasha. For his partner. For his best friend. But he couldn't find her.


8 days, 6 hours and 20 minutes since the mission in Venice.

6 days, 4 hours and 35 minutes since their cover had been blow.

6 days, 2 hours and 42 minutes since they'd taken her.

6 days, 2 hours and 35 fucking minutes since he'd been looking for Natasha. For his partner. For his best friend.

But he couldn't find her.

He didn't know how long he'd been awake for. Days and nights didn't mean much to him anymore. Nothing really mattered except for her.

He'd stayed in Venice just long enough to find out that she'd been moved to another location, and then he'd hit the road, hunting down leads and contacts. His knuckles were raw to the point where they were useless but he barely felt it. When you had pain to the point where it was an effort just to keep yourself standing any other discomfort seemed trivial.

She wouldn't have recognized him like this. He was used to being the civil one in their partnership. But they weren't a team anymore, now there was just him and didn't care if he had to rip the whole god damn organization apart, he was going to find her.

He had to.

It took him 6 days but he finally tracked the bastards to a small town outside of France. A few concussions and fractured skulls later he had an address. He scoped the place out once nighttime fell, hidden by the trees and hills that surrounded the area. It was your typical hell hole; building in the middle of nowhere, windows covered up with newspaper. And of course the regular men in dark clothes guarding the place. It was locked up pretty tight.

He ran his fingers through his hair and swore in frustration. The chances of making it out of this alive were pretty slim. Very fucking slim, if he were being honest with himself. But he could get her out. He knew he could get her out.

It took every last bit of strength that he had not to go running in there immediately, shooting everyone he came in contact with. As much as the idea had appeal (and fuck, did it ever) he knew that it wouldn't end well. And by that he meant they'd both end up dead. So he packed up what little equipment he brought with him and walked the few miles back to his car. This was good, finally being here. Finally knowing what he had to do. If he didn't keep himself busy he would think about Natasha. About her being locked up in a room, waiting for them to kill her. She wouldn't give up, no he knew that she'd make them fight for it. But they would figure out pretty quickly that she'd die before she told them anything. They could have done it already. He could be too late.

His vision went blurry and his insides clenched at the thought of her dead. No, she was alive. He'd know if she was dead. He was sure he'd know.

He stored his things in the car and got into the driver seat. The idea of sleep was pointless but he knew he couldn't go after her like this. He was too on edge. If Natasha were here she could calm him down. The woman had been an expert at keeping her emotions in check. He almost smiled at the thought of her rolling her eyes at him, giving him a hard time. _"You know what your problem is, Barton?" _she'd say, _"You think too much. You spend too much time in your own head. That is dangerous territory my friend, you'll get lost in there if you're not careful." _She'd look at him with those bright green eyes, her hair tumbling down in curls around her face. He missed her so much it had become an ache, the kind that amputees described when they lost a limb. Even though the part of you was gone you could still feel it there, but it was separate. It wasn't whole like it used to be. He'd never really described himself as "whole" but he'd never felt so broken before.

But he would get her back. This time tomorrow he would find her and pull her out.

He didn't sleep but by morning he was feeling lighter than he had in days. Whether it was the thought of getting Natasha back or knowing that he was probably going to die at some point that day, he didn't know. Probably a combination of the two.

The morning and most of the afternoon was spent readying his weapons. Going into a situation like this without back-up required a certain amount of planning, even if he was less than equipped for the job. It didn't matter. He'd gone through worse than this. But then Natasha had always been there, with a sarcastic remark and a well-placed bullet. So he pictured her being there with him, just another day, another mission. They inspected their weapons, discussed the layout of the place. She told him about how she almost killed Stark again, and he told her that Steve had finally watched Star Wars with him and Bruce. It was normal, comforting almost. To have a routine with someone that you could just fall into step with. If he lost her than he would lose this, lose the one thing in his life that was constant.

Darkness came too quickly, but he was ready. Plus he knew that he couldn't wait any longer.

He took down the first two guards easily. The arrows pierced through each man's jugular like it was paper. There was no time to hide the bodies so he moved quickly, taking out the next guard as he ran. He was advancing on his next target when the man turned at the last second, his eyes widening as he saw the marksman. Clint dodged the bullet that was aimed at him and stuck an arrow in the man's chest. No time to be delicate. The rage that he had been trying to suppress was back, and combined with the anxiety that was creeping into his head he was starting to see red. Better to fight while he still had a small fraction of sanity to cling to.

The last of the guards put up a bit of a fight, but Clint managed to walk away with only a few cuts and a black eye. He snuck in through the side door, readying another arrow. He'd examined the layout and he figured they'd be keeping her in the basement. He was passing by what he assumed was the lockout point when a floorboard creaked behind him. He whirled around and sent the arrow flying. It went wide as the other man lunged at Clint and tackled him to the floor. These guys were clearly the shoot first, ask questions later types. Well, that suited him just fine. He took the first punch, giving himself time to grab the knife that was strapped to his belt. Once the man aimed for another hit Clint dug the blade into his side. He screamed but Clint was already moving. He rolled and withdrew the knife, only to plunge it into his heart. It was messier and louder than he wanted but soon enough the man stopped twitching and lay still. Clint took back the knife, tucking it into his belt. His hands were coated in blood now, as was his clothing. But it helped Clint to focus.

He took the stairs quickly, sending two more arrows into the chest of another man. Finally he reached the basement. His heart was pounding in his chest. It was so cold down here. If he hadn't been so pumped up on anxiety and adrenaline he would have started shaking. There was a long hallway to the left. After clearing the area he slowly headed down it, swallowing hard when he saw a door at the end.

He was distracted for one second but that was all it took. An arm wound itself around his throat, yanking him back. He tried to get a grip on his bow but the arm was crushing his windpipe. Stars began to dance in front of eyes. But in some twisted way it was this that made him focus. He would not give in, not when he was this close to finding her. He threw out his arm, landing an elbow in the stranger's ribs. It wasn't much but the grip on his throat loosened enough for him to whip around and knock the man's head against the wall. He barely heard the satisfying crack, eyes once again on the door. An arrow was ready in his hands as he opened the door and peered inside.

He almost dropped his bow.

There she was. Tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Her head was bowed, hair covering most of her face. But it was her. She was there.

She was alive.

"Nat." he said softly. He didn't even try to hide the desperation in his voice.

She looked up slowly, as if she didn't think she'd heard right. His heart almost stopped when he saw her face. Her beautiful face. It was black and blue and red. Her lips were cracked and raw, each eye was swelling against her skin. There was too much blood for him to see what else was injury and what was just red.

But then she smiled and he almost wanted to cry. Count on Natasha Romanoff to fucking smile in a situation like this.

"About time you showed up, Hawk." She said. The words came out soft and hoarse, her chest wheezing as she took a breath. It was the cold, he knew. And he'd be willing to bet she hadn't had any water in days.

He crossed over to her quickly. His hands ached to touch her but first thing was first. Bending down, he undid the chains around her wrists and ankles. He'd be willing to bet that they'd tried ropes first and resorted to chains when she tried to escape.

His hands rubbed over the skin where the chains had dug in. A moan escaped her lips at the contact but she let him continue his work. The relief at seeing her alive was so consuming that he didn't hear the doo creaking behind him. He didn't hear the footsteps. If a bullet had hit him at that moment he would have died looking at Natasha, knowing that he hadn't been too late. That he had found her. He would have died happy.

But of course Natasha couldn't let him have all the action. Her hands reached for the gun that he always kept on him, and she'd pulled the trigger before he could register that there was a threat.

He spun around to see their mark, the man they'd traveled across the world to take down, fall onto his back, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. He slowly turned back to Natasha, a grin slowly taking shape on his face. He hadn't smiled in days. "Now we're even." She said, that same smirk on her face. The gun shook a little in her hands, in fingers he was sure had gone numb long ago. Slowly, he covered her hand with his own, taking the gun back with his other hand. She started to protest but then she winced, hissing through her teeth. He set the gun back and wrapped his arms around her, gripping her tightly but not enough to cause her pain. It felt so good to hold her again, to have her in his arms. But he knew they couldn't linger. He pulled back to look in her eyes. "Can you stand?" The only answer he got was a slight movement of her head but he understood. They'd never really needed words.

His hands moved to her arms, helping her out of the chair. She didn't make a sound but he knew she was in agony. He kept his grip on her as they slowly left the room.

The rest of the building was quiet around them. The only sound came from their muffled footsteps. When they got to the stairs he reached down and lifted her into his arms, keeping her tight against his chest. In any other situation she would have smacked him upside the head for doing such a thing, but she just lay there, eyes half closed. Though a smile did pass over her lips. He thought he heard her say "Watch yourself, Barton" but he couldn't be sure.

They finally made it to the car. He opened the door with his free hand, kicking it the rest of the way. Once he got her settled into the seat he closed the door and turned around. Within a few moments the windows of the building shattered as the bomb that he'd set inside went off. The explosion went up like a cloud, flames erupting out the sides. He didn't look too long, but it did give him some satisfaction in knowing that Natasha would never have to see the building again.

The drive to the hospital passed by in a blur. He drove with one hand on the steering wheel, the other he kept on Natasha. He needed to reassure himself that she was still breathing. That she was alive.

Once they arrived at the hospital he refused to hand Natasha off to anyone except the doctor he'd contacted before. Then she was ushered into surgery and he had nothing to do but wait. He'd waved away the nurses who tried to tend to his own injuries. The exhaustion that he had been fighting started to hit him while he sat there but he still refused to sleep.

After what seemed like hours the doctor met him in the waiting room. "She's in critical condition, but we think she'll pull through." He put a hand on Clint's shoulder. "She's a fighter, that one."

Clint couldn't help but laugh at that. He was led down the hall to her room, thanking the doctor before closing the door behind him.

Natasha looked so small lying there on the bed. The machines beeped around her but he barely heard them. He considered pulling up a chair beside her but then he realized that that just wouldn't do. So instead he slipped off his jacket, setting it on the chair, and carefully lay down beside her.

When she woke up with him next to her she'd have some choice words to say, but for now he just wanted to hold her. Hold her and know that she was safe.

He rested his hand on top of hers, and when the exhaustion pulled at him again he didn't fight it. He just set his head gently against hers and drifted into unconsciousness.


End file.
